


my love, these words are for you.

by je000nghan



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, chef!mingyu, writer!wonwoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 02:25:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15378657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/je000nghan/pseuds/je000nghan
Summary: far into their relationship, wonwoo decides to quit his job as a writer.mingyu insists for his reason, nevermind the unknown fact that he’s the culprit and the thief who captured wonwoo’s sincere words.





	my love, these words are for you.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snowpatrol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpatrol/gifts).



> to ti (@dekadeki_ / snowpatrol), who asked for a meanie sleepover/spin-the-bottle/seven-minutes-in-heaven fic.
> 
> i’m sorry i ended up not writing any of the three, but at least a bed plays a major role in this story.
> 
> thanks for openly requesting a gift fic, ti. you might have unknowingly delivered inspiration to the ones who must have been suffering from writer’s block (me). bless!

“ah, shit.”

the smell of burnt barbecue covers what little space it is that composes the kitchen; there’s gray smoke blinding mingyu’s view as he attempts to save his work by making a skillful pan flip. however, his unnecessarily large hand gracelessly hits on the hottest metals, causing a small burn by his index finger.

mingyu is just so out of it. he’s mindless; he’s bummed. he has been waiting impatiently, his impatience has faded into vain lunacy. he’s been feeding a quasi-stray cat for two weeks since the quasi-stray cat’s quasi-owner stopped coming.

and he blames the quasi-owner for simply: _everything_ ; curses, slanders — all underneath his breath, thankfully, because the man arrives twenty minutes past the store’s closing.

“can i come in?”

 

 

 

there’s a good ramen place on the 17th lot of wonwoo’s street. it was humble and small, pretty much like its owner. except, the owner is nowhere close to being small and wonwoo had no means to know if he’s humble. so maybe, it’s both a fact and a wishful thinking.

but wonwoo comes in at 10:10pm, on the dot, almost every night.

maybe it’s because the price was unfairly affordable to the too good taste of the menu and the store’s excellent service (sometimes, he’d wish for the whole world to discover the store and give it the recognition it deserves; other times, he’s thankful he gets to eat it in the most peaceful times at the most peaceful nights);

maybe it’s because of the stray cat that nuzzled its way to wonwoo’s heart, its pretty healthy fur sliding lovingly and warm against the cold skin of his exposed legs (he’s the type to wear shorts as much as the weather allows);

or maybe, it was the owner himself. the tall, well-built, handsome owner, doubling as the chef (tripling as the server when it’s near closing hours), presenting him the best meals of his otherwise extravagant life.

and the owner was always there, smiling fangs-out the moment wonwoo enters the transparent door, triggering the chimes the owner put just above its frame (perhaps for good luck) — it was an established routine and a safe haven at the same time. and sometimes, wonwoo feels like the owner waits for him every night, too.

or he hopes he does.

 

 

 

wonwoo’s phone vibrates at every 10 minutes, almost; and had he not been expectant of life, he would’ve thrown the the pesky thing from the very first time it rang this morning.

but he had a nice job. he was an office employee, a writer in an off-freelance season, and he loved it because it was compelling — writer’s block almost never occurs because his topics were assigned, because he had researchers to help lay his materials. but sometimes, it gets so hectic, his mind feels caged and he thirsts to write down words his heart would have chosen to scream.

thank God tonight, the busy schedule ends.

and also, ramen.

 

 

 

mingyu welcomes his last customer in, heart giving a second-long pause at the sight of the latter: different, office clothes and all; he was wearing glasses, too.

“i didn’t think this place would be open. i thought i was too late.”

mingyu missed that: the lowest, most gentle voice his mind has ever registered; and his tongue twists, never expecting to hear the voice speak words apart from its usual reading of the Kim’s Kitchen menu and the occasional _thank you’s._

“i-i, no. i mean,” he stutters. “you’re kind of two weeks late anyway.”

smooth _— or so he thinks._

the customer sports a default smile, relaxed and a little over blushing, as he sits himself at the little community counter-like table panelled at the glass windows of the store (his usual spot, that is), his feet resting cutely at the round metal attached to the bottom part of his stool. “mr. kim, were you waiting?”

 _he thought wrong._ his jaw drops at the response, his busy hands, once wiping table tops, stop for a good four seconds. “sir, you know my name?”

and he’s answered by a light chuckle, almost coming from the tip of the man’s nose. “i just assumed you were Kim and this was your Kitchen.”

 _of course, pffft,_ he thinks to himself. _don’t think too much. small thing, obvious detail._

the customers does that little habit mingyu had noticed over time: swinging his body in half-circles at both sides, balance controlled by an elbow resting atop the table; sometimes, like right now, fiddling things between his fingers (this time, a toothpick). “if it makes you feel better, my last name’s jeon.”

mingyu snaps out of it. he quickly finishes off the table squeaky clean, washes his hands, and delivers to _mr. jeon_ an old menu (he notes to laminate new sets next time), and without a word, mr. jeon points at his (rather favorite) order.

and when the food comes ready to serve, mingyu delivers its tray to the customer, receives his _thank you_ , and speaks: “mingyu.”

mr. jeon lightly chokes on his soup, stopping any unattractive disaster with a tissue by his chin.

“call me mingyu.”

mr. jeon takes a half-glass of water just to clear his throat for his best attempt at a respectful introduction.

“wonwoo.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“neko-yah.”_

“we promised to keep it local, wonwoo hyung,” mingyu scolds, making sweet cat-like whistles in between, as he squats down to attract the usual quasi-stray cat with a good amount of leftover food from the kitchen. _“goyangi.”_

wonwoo tilts his head as he watches the whole domestic scene. he swears the cat looks more of a “neko” than a “goyangi”, pretty much like how he thinks mingyu could pass off as a “mark”.

 

it’s been two months since the night of their first proper conversation; two months since the moment that prompted each other to date; two months of studying the person of jeon wonwoo and kim mingyu — both of them ticking off their false theories, both of them chalking up minimal details in their mental book of discoveries; two months of an eventual merger of life shared in between every _good morning_ and every _good night._

 

it goes on.

 

 

a microscopic view on the life of jeon wonwoo and kim mingyu would show a dark room lit with a computer screen and occupied with sounds of league of legends and messy slurps of homemade ramyeon, muffling words exchanged in small talks as the latter tries his best to keep the former company (and eventually falling asleep remotely at his side).

on other days, there’s wonwoo visiting the younger at unexpected after lunch hours when his boss allows him to work outside his office — there’s a bright canine smile accompanying every big embrace wonwoo receives at every first few steps he takes from the chimed doors of Kim’s Kitchen.

sometimes, the two of them would get all dressed, blessing the innocent streets of different cities with their visuals and theor fair contribution to the romantic air of korea.

most of the time, they’re at home...

 

 

...their home.

 

(they will never forget the greatest decision they ever made: economically, reducing their expenses by sharing a rent; practically, at mingyu’s home which was only a few floors about the store; romantically, _just because._ )

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

wonwoo’s phone is vibrating again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“aren’t you gonna take that call?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“i’m quitting.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

sunlight substitutes the harsh rings of mingyu’s everyday alarm, the bright daylight tickling his vision with louder phosphenes as they hit accurately at the direction of his eyes. the sun was higher, his day starting late, and mingyu returns nature’s greetings by delivering the same to the man tucked warmly against his chest. with his own little way, he adjusts himself careful enough not to wake up the sleeping one; but the kiss he plants on top of the latter’s head forces the opposite.

“did you sleep well?” wonwoo speaks against the soft fabric of mingyu’s shirt just before mingyu could regret disrupting his sleep, and he’s answered by a quiet _Mmm_ and a tighter hug coupled with another kiss (this time, longer) on the top of his head.

and only then does wonwoo’s alarm ring, which he ignores for some annoying minutes, until...

“mingyu-yah!” wonwoo tilts his head swiftly to meet mingyu’s face, worry blanketing all over his. “it’s 10:04, why are still here? you have work!”

a sly smile forms on mingyu’s lips, later turning into a fit of silent giggles as he watches the older one panic through blank, worried blinks and a harsh jolt by sitting up. before wonwoo could completely toss their blanket off of them and himself out of the bed, mingyu reaches for the far side of wonwoo’s waist and pulls him down so that his back is pressed against mingyu’s chest.

“we can stay a little longer in bed, hyung,” mingyu’s breath tickles down the delicate skin by the crook of wonwoo’s neck, triggering wonwoo’s sensitive nerves which he successfully attempts to resist reacting to.

“why?” wonwoo conforms despite his inquiry, resting a hand over mingyu’s to secure the embrace.

“because you’re officially jobless today—”

wonwoo slaps the younger’s hand lightly, laughing at the borderline rude response, to which mingyu laughs before he expounds, “—and i can have you for myself, entirely, on a monday.”

it was quiet for a few minutes too long that wonwoo could assume mingyu had fallen asleep again — which, he didn’t, because wonwoo feels mingyu shuffle to lean on his side with his large frame hovering over his smaller body; and because mingyu takes it upon himself to break the fond silence.

“wonwoo hyung,” mingyu almost whispers, the tone of his voice serene over wonwoo’s ear. “why did you quit your job?”

 _of course,_ wonwoo thinks. _how did i never tell him?_ but then again, he wasn’t sure _how_ he could ever do.

“is it a reason i’m not supposed to know?”

wonwoo could hear the pout in mingyu’s voice. “it’s not.”

“then what is it?” the pout consistent.

“because.”

mingyu allows wonwoo to think, patiently anticipating. he clasps their hands together, maybe so that the older one doesn’t feel pressured. after all, he was just curious.

“i guess i didn’t want to write about the benefits of post-modern adulting anymore, or how a certain artist keeps their lane amidst ruthless industries, you know?” wonwoo babbles, reckoning the most recent ridiculous articles he’s written for his employer. “it was no fun.”

mingyu nods, acknowledging the honesty.

“i’ll write still. and i have my savings. i’ll do freelance if i should. but. i don’t know.”

“it’s not about the finances, hyung,” mingyu reminds. “we’re not worried about that… i’m not. are you?”

wonwoo shakes his head, affirming the security. and he was just about to breathe lighter when mingyu catches him off guard — “hyung, i feel like you already have something you want to write about,” mingyu shakes their bodies playfully, teasing the older in excitement.

laughing, wonwoo blurts his subconscious truth — “it’s some _one._ ”

and he had to pick himself up from there because mingyu doesn’t respond (only because his heart leaps a long beat at the sound of it) — “it’s you.”

wonwoo turns to face mingyu, his head fully aligned with the younger.

“you.”

he kisses mingyu because he’s silent, because he’s moved, because he doesn’t have to respond to wonwoo’s answer.

“it’s you.”

and mingyu kisses him back because he’s overwhelming, because he’s sincere, because he’s the only person who has ever made mingyu feel this way — _loved. in love._

but really, how can wonwoo even explain this better when all his words have long been captured by mingyu? he can’t. only God deals with his incapacities.

so he resorts to the words that expressed him the most — _“i love you.”_

and mingyu answers just as true — _“i love you, too.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

wonwoo publishes a novel many months later.

 

DEDICATION: _to mingyu, my love. these words are for you._

**Author's Note:**

> oof, hello! it’s my first meanie fic, i’ve been meaning to write one since forever and initially wanted to make an angst, but my fickle heart likes to swerve back into the usual fluff. i hope ya’ll liked it!
> 
> also, the stressed student that i am would gratefully take a cup of coffee as a form of support: [here!](https://ko-fi.com/F1F7OQ52) you know, if you ever liked my work that much. i’ll drink it well, i promise. thank you ♡


End file.
